Wrong Place, Wrong Time
by Gnomie897
Summary: They've always had the chance, just never the time for it. Dean and Jo drabbles, no real plot line. Rated T for Dean's language.
1. The Roadhouse

She's a little sister. A kid that can't be that much older than Sammy and she got that bratty smile that rival's Sam's bitchface at the best of times. But Sam has never filled out a pair of jeans like that- all low slung around the hips and struggling against curves. Still, the fact remains that she's a little sister. Dean shouldn't touch, shouldn't think about it.

But if there is one thing that Dean is, it is not a saint, so he takes his fill where he gets it, watching Jo bend to pick up a case of beer as him and Sam walk into the Roadhouse between hunts. She bends and bends and the view is hard to ignore. With a smirk he can't fight, he tilts his head and enjoys. That is, until Sam is digging his elbow into his side, huffing as if Dean's behavior is still embarrassing and unexpected after all these years.

"Dean," Sam chastises softly, though there is a smile hinting around his dimples even as he shakes his head.

"If you're checking out my ass, Winchester," Jo swears without even turning around, heading towards the back just as her mother opens the door. The look she fixes on the elder Winchester is enough to keep him heeled for weeks, if not a month or two. He always forgets about the mother.

"What you boys in for this time?" Ellen questions, still fixing Dean with a stare that makes his libido just about shrivel up and die. A common occurrence now that they frequent the Roadhouse, an occurrence that always seems to make Sam gleeful.

"Just looking to lay low for a bit." Sam pulls out a stool and straddles it easily, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning if Dean's ever heard it. "Gonna grab a beer and then head up the road-"

"Yeah, course ya are," Ellen cuts in. She polishes two glasses before filling them up from the tap and setting them on the counter, all while saying, "You know that back room is open whenever you need it."

"The one next to Ash?" Dean chips in, taking the stool next to Sam and flashing a dubious look at the older woman.

"Yeah, like your ever quiet when you bring a lady in," Sam mutters into his beer. Whether Ellen hears it or not is up for debate, but she flashes Dean a disapproving look as she turns to grab a rag. "Thanks, Ellen, but we don't wanna put you out or anything."

"Nonsense," she snaps and that's the end of it.

Jo walks in then and there is no way her hips move that way naturally, or that the smirk on her face has anything to do with said hip movements. She joins her mom behind the bar, leaning against the counter and fixing her smirk on Dean. "Hey, maybe this time you can stick around long enough to actually beat me in a game of pool," she teases. Dangerous playing ground, but Dean can't help the quirk to his lips. It's built in his character, a natural flirt. Not his fault in the least.

And it is definitely not his fault that his voice drops just the right way when he says, "Oh, you don't want us staying around that long."

"Damn right," Ellen says and he sobers with an apologetic smile towards the mother, though the way Jo's biting her bottom lip and glaring at him tells him he had the effect he tried for. Two can play at this game sweetheart, he thinks as he tips the beer to his lips, choosing to ignore the cut of her tank top. Sam better find them a case quick, he tacks on, downing the beer when she shakes her ass on the way out.


	2. Drunk Dean is a Flirty Dean

He's had too much to drink. Sam is back in the motel room with the laptop, researching or whatever the hell he does on the damn thing, and Dean is at a local bar with empty shot glasses lined up in front of him and zero prospects. Yeah, he'd come out to drink, fuck, and be merry. But that quickly turned into drink and be merry when he had perused the bar and seen nothing but drunk truckers. The only woman was the bartender and, as much as Dean loved the challenge of the ring on her finger, he wasn't about to get chased out of town when Sam was so sure they could land a case. People dying mysteriously, bloody and violently. The fact that they suspect witches did nothing to keep Dean out of the bar.

But here sits Dean Winchester, alcohol sloshing warm in his head and sexual frustration angrily clawing at the base of his spine. He blames them both for the thumb that presses down on the send button on his phone, blames them for the way he bites his bottom lip and waits for an answer.

"The hell are you calling me for?" Her voice is broken, breathing heavy and doesn't that just make Dean shift in his seat. The idea is ridiculous, she's probably just moving boxes because no one answers the phone when they're Dean's type of busy, but his drunken mind doesn't care to distinguish. This is a bad idea.

"Just wanted to talk," he slurs out, husky and low in that voice he knows gets him everything he wants. Jo laughs, still breathing brokenly as she mutters something to someone about being right back. Dean quirks an eyebrow at that. "What are you doing?"

"Kevin," she answers easily and he hears the tease in her voice, followed by the click of a door. There is a spike of jealousy low in his stomach before he can really register it. He tells himself it's like seeing Sam with a girl, flirting, the protective urge he gets when the chick seems to handsy or too slutty. It's an older sibling thing. Only, he's never really wanted to straight up pummel the girls that Sam picks like he wants to pummel Kevin… huh. "And you are drunk off your ass, aren't you Winchester?"

"Pft." It's not an answer, but it's all he wants to give her at the moment. "Why are you answering the phone if Kevin's back there in your room?"

"Saw you calling," she says slowly and he can just see the way she bites her bottom lip, mirroring the action on his end of the phone. "Thought you had managed to get you and your brother in some deep shit or something. You don't exactly call just to talk, Dean. Usually you want something. So what is it?"

Relief, he wants to answer but he catches himself. So maybe he's not that drunk. "Nothing," he says instead. "I'm bored off my rocker, Sasquatch is busy with his laptop girlfriend and I had no one else to call." There is a beat, a pause and then Dean shakes himself, gestures for the bartender to fill his glass with water this time. Before he decides to, he hears himself slurring out, "Hey, Jo, can I ask you something?"

She huffs a laugh and he can practically hear her eyes rolling. "Shoot."

"Bang." He chuckles for a moment at his own joke and hears the stifled 'idiot' that Jo murmurs on the other end. "No, seriously. Seriously, I got a question for you." She makes a non-committal grunt which he takes as permission to move on. "Alright, alright. Have you ever thought about… Well let's say that it wasn't Kevin, but Dean there with you. Would you still stop and answer your phone?" His voice goes cocky at the end, not that he means to. He's Dean Winchester though, he can't help it.

Jo laughs genuinely at that. "Dean, you're drunk," she informs him through her laugh.

"That's not an answer," he rumbles back, hearing her laugh hitch ever so slightly at the dip in his tone. Drunken Dean is a flirty Dean, and the fact that they aren't face to face does nothing to hinder that ability.

"Yeah, well it's a pretty stupid question," she retorts simply, another evasion that is so blatantly obvious Dean laughs.

"Stupid because the answer is so obvious?"

"I'm hanging up now," comes the only answer, but it's answer enough. Dean's pride swells, his smirk full on confidence that he definitely draws the eyes of the bartender when she sets the water down. He sees the hitch in her breath, the way her eyes widen before she is turning away and he takes it upon himself to notice the sway of her hips when she walks towards the other end of the bar.

"Yeah," he says, sitting up on the stool and taking a swig of cold water. "Yeah, you do that. I'll see you next time we swing around the Roadhouse."

"Don't kill yourself driving back to the motel," Jo orders, her tone both terse and teasing in the same.

"You just worry about getting rid of Kevin in the morning," he teases back. She hangs up without so much as a goodbye and Dean finds himself laughing as he stands, throwing money on the bar and finishing off the water. The bartender flashes him a smile and a wink when she collects his glass, so obviously running her eyes over him that, yeah, he definitely considers it worth the risk. But she's turning away before he can lean towards her, open that smile that gets 'em every time. Probably for the best, he rationalizes as he takes towards the door.

His phone vibrates in his pocket as he is digging out the Impala keys and it's a text. _Kevin says fuck you very much_. With a smirk he types a reply then climbs into the driver's seat, tossing his phone into the passenger seat. _Wouldn't that be your job?_


	3. Dean Winchester's Lesson in Self Control

Contrary to popular belief, Dean Winchester is not a brainless heathen. Heathen, he'll accept. Brainless is the part he has a problem with. The fact that Sam thinks he will run off with any girl that's hot and promises a wild night is a shot to the man's pride. Dean's got standards, he's got self-control, and sometimes the two coincide.

Take, for example, when Jo starts to hustle a couple of new guys at the bar. Yes, he sees the way she runs her hands down the cue between each shot, the way she bites her lip and hitches her hips when she takes her own shot. And yeah, his jeans feel a bit tight when she catches his eye and absent mindedly strokes her thumb over the tip of her cue. But no, he is not about to act on any of that. The thought that it is possible doesn't even cross his mind until Sam follows his gaze and huffs out a groan.

"Keep it in your pants, Dean," comes his gruff command as he flips through the profile Ash has put together.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean answers, wrapping his mouth around the bottle and taking a long pull. And yes, he does see the self-satisfied smirk that covers Jo's face.


	4. Missing Hearts

"I think I got something," Sam says two days later, flopping down on the cot in the back room. Dean spares a glance up from the gun he's cleaning though his hands don't stop as he drags the rag over the metal. His raised eyebrow is an unspoken, 'hit me' and Sam takes it as such. "Couple of disappearances in San Fran, nothing unusual until the body of one showed up." His face lights up in a way that Dean recognizes, his hands sliding the gun piece into place before he looks to his brother.

"Missing heart?"

Sam nods, enjoying the way that Dean grins at that. "Missing heart."

They are packed up and ready to go in a half hour, Dean twitching for a hunt, a different bar and a different venue that might actually prove fruitful for once. Jo catches them just as they step out towards the Impala. "You headin' out?" she asks, and Dean forces himself to imagine the disappointment in her tone. Does the girl own nothing but tank tops and low cut jeans? Jesus.

"Yeah, Jo," he answers easily, flashing a smirk. "Don't go crying over us, kid." She throws the dish rag she has in his face and both her and Sam laugh at that, the brats.

"Just get your asses back safe," she tells them, sounding oddly like Ellen for a moment.

"You shouldn't be thinking about either of our asses," Dean teases, low and challenging. The look Jo flashes him is innocent and answering all in the same. From brat little sister to something else in no seconds flat. Fuck, he needs to get laid.


	5. Farewell

While Sam and Ellen are pulling together the rest of the supplies, Dean stands uselessly off to the side trying his best not to look at the blood, not to listen to the harsh breathing, and not to think _my fault, my fault_. 'Trying' being the operative word in the sentence. Because he sees it all, hears it all, and damn it if his mind isn't practically screaming at him, _your fault, your fault, your fault, goddam it Winchester, isn't it always your fault_?

There is a scrape of a bucket against linoleum and then he hears a huff of breath that has to be a laugh. It hurts to look down at her, but he owes her that much. She's brave enough to withstand it he has to be strong enough to look her in the face. Even if that face is pale and growing paler. "Hey, hey, Dean," Jo breathes, still huffing out that soundless laugh even though she flinches at the movement it causes on her stomach. "Dean."

He kneels next to her in an instant, moving so fast his head aches with the equilibrium shift but he kneels in her blood and finds her hand all the same. "Yeah," he tries and his voice wavers, weak. Pull it together, Winchester. "Jo, yeah. I'm here."

She rolls her head, looking up at him with that smile on her face that hurts him in ways he can't think about. It's not bratty, it's not teasing, it's open and happy and she doesn't deserve this. God, she doesn't deserve this. "You remember…" she trails off, coughing and then shifting to sit up straighter. His hands are on her, gingerly, helping to move and helping to situate all while murmuring 'careful, careful, don't move' under his breath, into her hair. "You 'member that time you called me at the bar?"

He spares a moment from analyzing the pulse of red under her hand, chewing his lip as he grabs for the extra rag they'd dragged over. When he presses it to her stomach she groans, he apologizes, and then looks up into her face. "What are you going on about, now?"

She licks her lips slowly, the small movement seeming to be a struggle. "That time," she tries again, voice rough with amusement and exhaustion. He shouldn't let her be talking, but if he knows Jo he knows he can't stop her. Couldn't stop her. _Your fault_. "You called me, drunk off your ass bumbling on about how I answered the phone when I was with… with that guy."

"Kevin." The fact that he remembers the name is a surprise to both of them; mostly because Dean had convinced himself that he hadn't cared less about Jo's hook ups. "Yeah, I remember that. Why you bringing it up now?"

She laughs, bordering on hysterical if she had the breath for it but she doesn't so she simply shakes her head with it. "Guy was, like, fifty," she giggles, closing her eyes and knocking her head back against the wall as if to focus. "Fifty something."

"Well I knew you pulled for older guys," he teases, low and easy like his knees aren't in a warm puddle of her drying blood or he can't see her insides with just a quick glance down.

"Shut up," she snips back, still smiling though her eyes have gone dim, less amused and more regretful. "We weren't doing anything. I was kicking his ass…" she pauses, laughing at the expression on Dean's face, which he's sure is a mixture between relief and pride. "At poker. He couldn't get a good hand to save his life… or his mortgage."

He laughs at that, and it's weak, but genuine. "Knew you were a Sandra Dee."

"Don't make you no Danny Zuko," she answers easily, biting back another groan when she laughs. There is a beat where they stare at each other, it's heavy and silent but it says more than Dean can even begin to comprehend. He doesn't want to think about it. "But I just wanted you to know," she finally says, softly and dropping his gaze to stare at where his hand covers hers on her side. "Wanted you jealous." He snuffs something that could be laughter, shaking his head and she hums out her agreement. "Seems stupid now."

"It was stupid then." She glances up at him and he quirks the side of his mouth in a smirk, his best and brightest given the situation and what he wouldn't give to see the answering hitch in her breath, the way she would bite her lip, and flush. But there is no blood to rush to her face; it's all at their feet.

"Dean." It's Sam, looking at Dean with those big hazel eyes that probably reflect everything that Dean is feeling at the moment. He stands up, wincing when his knees creak and he can feel the slick of bloodstained denim against his shins. They exchange a look and then Sam is pressing the cords into his hand, brushing past him to kneel next to Jo for his own goodbye. Ellen steps up to fill the space Sam leaves, her face schooled to look empty.

"Ellen," he breathes, his voice breaking all over again because it's his fault her daughter's dying, his dad's fault her husband died, there's a case that it's Sam's fault for her bar burning down, and this woman has lost everything because of the Winchesters. _Your fault_. "I'm so so-"

"Don't you say it," she snaps at him, her voice the only thing betraying her grief. It's water logged where her eyes are dry, hot and angry. "Don't you say those words like they mean anything. Like they…" she breaks off, shaking her head and wiping at her cheeks as if she's shed any tears. "Like they're gonna change anything. 'Cause they won't."

"Tell me what to say then," he growls at her, angry at his loss for words. He can't do anything right, _your fault, your fault_, and this is not helping at all. They are off to the side, out of Jo's sight, so he takes the liberty to gesture, desperate and pleading with his hands because he can't do anything else. He _can't_ do anything else. She doesn't give him a moment for self-pity. Her hand falls on his shoulder and she squeezes hard enough to make the socket ache.

"You tell me that you and your brother are gonna kill the devil." He doesn't miss the fact that she's not including herself.

"What about you?" he questions her even though the answer is so obvious. If it were Sammy on the floor, he'd do the same. She sees it in his face, the understanding, so she finds it unnecessary to give a verbal response. Instead her hand tightens on his shoulder for a moment and then she's pulling him into a hug.

"Don't let this mean nothing," she says directly into his ear. He nods once, jerkily and then she's pushing him back, stepping off to collect herself. He watches her back for a moment and then he's dragging the trigger towards Jo, placing it in her hands and pressing his lips to her forehead, her lips, saying a goodbye so sour that it burns like acid at the back of his throat.

And in the end, the devil walks away the victor and Dean walks away with one more empty contact to drunk dial.


End file.
